


you and me lying on the tile floor (trying to keep cool)

by madasthesea



Series: Nice work, kid [21]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Gen, Humor, No Plot/Plotless, Peter Parker is a Genius
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-11 16:14:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19930882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madasthesea/pseuds/madasthesea
Summary: The air in the hotel room was sticky, soupy, and cloyingly hot. The ancient HVAC system below the window was really only there for appearances sake, apparently, as a note taped firmly onto the plastic read “DO NOT TURN ON A/C” with a mocking little smiley face that Tony had promptly called a rude name.





	you and me lying on the tile floor (trying to keep cool)

**Author's Note:**

> Have I ever told you all that I don't like summer?
> 
> The entirely too deep and poetic title is from "Have to Explode" by The Mountain Goats

The air in the hotel room was sticky, soupy, and cloyingly hot. The ancient HVAC system below the window was really only there for appearances sake, apparently, as a note taped firmly onto the plastic read “DO NOT TURN ON A/C” with a mocking little smiley face that Tony had promptly called a rude name.

He’d fiddled with it anyway, being the rule breaker he was. It had turned on, wheezed arthritically, and blown out a pathetic wisp of slightly warm air before giving up the ghost.

The cheap double bed he was laying on smelled a little musty from the perpetual damp of the room.

That’s what he got for not planning the trip like Pepper had told him to. He’d figured it’d be more fun, and certainly more his and Peter’s style, to just drive when they wanted to drive and stop when they wanted to stop. It had led them to this cheap motel in the middle of nowhere at one in the morning, Peter practically drooling on his shoulder as they’d checked in.

Now, however, Peter was not asleep. He, like Tony, had a hard time sleeping when it was hot, and in an attempt to distract himself after his second cold shower of the night had failed to cool him off sufficiently, he had taken to listing things that were cooler than this hotel room.

It had stopped being funny after about the first three items—a sauna, hot yoga, and the Amazon in July—but Tony was still laughing in his heat-induced daze as the items became more and more outrageous.

“Being burned alive,” Peter droned where he was sprawled shirtless on his own bed. Tony couldn’t blame him; he was down to his tank top and probably would have forgone that if he didn’t care about Peter seeing his scars.

“The center of the earth’s core.” Tony peeled one eye open, snorting. Peter’s hair was a riot of fluffy curls at the moment—the humidity and Peter constantly running his hands through it making it bigger than Tony had ever seen. He could see the vague outline of Peter in the dim light that the cheap curtains didn’t block out, could see his face and chest glimmering with sweat.

While Peter’s inability to thermoregulate normally kicked them in the butt in winter, it was no less true that Peter’s body was just as incapable at cooling him down as it was at warming him up. The poor kid must have been even more miserable than Tony, and doing his best to hide it with this increasingly outlandish list.

It was unbearably hot.

Tony stood as Peter expanded to “Hell, probably.”

They’d gotten ice from the machine down the hall no less than three times, but it kept melting so quickly they never really got to enjoy it. But Tony took two of the overly bleached washcloths from the neat stack and dunked them in the melted ice water. It was blissfully cool and he splashed some on his face before going back to his bed, taking a second and plopping one the dripping clothes over Peter’s face, cutting him off halfway through “the surface of the sun.”

Peter gasped, then let out a half-groan, half-yawn of pleasure, wiping his face and neck down with the rag. Tony positioned his own behind his neck, not caring that he was soaking the pillow in the process. 

He started dozing off after that, exhaustion and the slight drop in temperature making sleep seem more attainable. Peter must have thought the same, because his incredibly long list came to an end.

Just as sleep was about to claim him, the joke of an air conditioning unit ground on with a loud bang, making both of them jump. Peter snickered a little, turning over onto his side while Tony muttered an imprecation, hoping sleep was still lingering close by.

It was not to be. After just another minute, Peter quietly said, “Mr. Stark,” in a tone that suggested Tony was not going to like what came next.

He grunted in response.

“It’s blowing hot air.”

“ _No._ ” It wasn’t disbelief, but pure denial. _It isn’t blowing hot air if you tell yourself it isn’t_.

“It is, Tony.”

Tony star-fished on his bed for a moment, staring up at the ceiling.

“Ugh. Fine. We’re being held captive by some undercover super villains and they’re trying to _boil us to death_ , that’s fine.” Tony rolled to his feet, grimacing at the feel of the carpet. “Get your travel size toolkit that I know you have cause you’re a massive geek.”

“Are you telling me you _don’t_ travel with a toolkit?” Peter asked, pushing himself up, too.

Of course he did. He was paranoid. “Yours is closer.”

He flicked on a lamp, scowling at the traitorous A/C. Peter dug in his backpack for a moment before presenting Tony with a little set of mismatched tools. Tony considered for a second, then waved him off.

“You know how to fix an air conditioner,” Tony reminded him. Peter blinked, not like he’d forgotten, but like he figured Tony would rather get this done fast than use it as an opportunity to practice his repairing skills.

“Um. Ok.”

Peter dragged the tiny table out of the way, then knelt down by the unit, which was still growling horribly as it blew warm air into their faces. Tony opted to pull out a flashlight and give Peter better light, as an excuse to hover.

He watched Peter fiddle around in the guts of the HVAC, examining wires and bolts, one eye on what he was doing and one eye on the kid. His hair was plastered to his neck in some places, sweat making it darker than usual. He was biting his lip as he concentrated.

Tony didn’t think he would even pass on being stuck in this purgatorial motel in the middle of freaking nowhere if it meant spending time with Peter. Peter had a way of making everything better, a joy in his essence that even made sitting on the questionably clean carpet in the middle of the night not all that bad.

Peter let out a little triumphant noise as he found the problem.

Tony was stupidly proud of him. For everything and nothing. For existing.

“Why are you staring at me?” Peter asked as he spat a compact wrench into his hand from where he’d been holding it between his teeth.

Tony shut his jaw, his teeth clacking together, not realizing that he had been staring.

“Where’d you get the scar?” he asked. He’d noticed it earlier, when Peter had come out of his second shower without the t-shirt he’d been wearing before. It was jagged, but small, just around the curve of his side, above his hip.

Peter lifted his arm and glanced down at it. He turned back to the unit, his hands working confidently as he spoke.

“My first attempt at stopping a mugging,” he admitted, smiling a little.

“You got stabbed?” Tony asked, surprised.

“No,” Peter snorted, rolling his yes. “I tried to be all cool and aloof as I swung away, ran into the broken railing of a fire escape.”

“Ouch,” Tony said blandly, not even attempting to hide his smirk.

“Yeah, the lady I was saving was really nice about it, but her little kid thought it was hilarious.”

Tony could picture it: Peter’s well-meaning stuttering, over-eagerness turning into forced cockiness to try to emulate his heroes. He was such an adorable doofus.

“Where’d you go?” Tony asked suddenly. “When stuff like that happened, before I found you?”

Peter shrugged. “Nowhere. I’d just put Neosporin on it, stick a bandage over it, let it heal. Try to hide the bloodstains from May.”

“How’d that work out for you?”

Peter grimaced. “She thought I was getting in fights at school. Must have called them half a dozen times trying to figure it out. Eventually I got better at not getting hurt. And better at hiding it when I did.”

Tony watched him, tried to picture it. A little fourteen-year-old kid, biting down on his sleeve to muffle his cries of pain as he cleaned himself up with fumbling, bloodstained hands.

There were a lot of times when Tony regretted ever tracking the kid down, but this was not one of them.

“One more thing,” Peter muttered to himself, setting down his screwdriver. He raised a flat hand and gave the A/C a sharp smack. It shuddered into life, still a little loud, but the air that began pouring out was deliciously cold.

Peter grinned and immediately leaned forward, basking in it.

“Hey, way to go, buddy,” Tony said, clapping Peter on the shoulder and then wrinkling his nose at how sticky with sweat Peter’s skin was.

“Bed time?” Peter asked hopefully.

“Bed time,” Tony agreed, heaving himself to his feet. “And tomorrow night we’re staying in a freaking Marriott.”

Peter collapsed on his hard, double bed and mumbled an assent, already mostly asleep now that the room wasn’t two degrees shy of the boiling point.

Tony smiled, ruffled Peter’s sweaty hair then pulled the sheet over him to keep him from getting too cold. “Night, kiddo.”


End file.
